1-22-22 Short
Story Dream:
Today is a Nine-day. I play with Numerology. Add 1+22+22 and it adds up to a 9 which is my
life path. I must listen to the still
small voice or not?
Val was one of the most handsome men I had ever met. He handed
out charisma every moment he existed everywhere he went. His touch, his smile,
his simply being in the room, gave me a warmth like the soft winds of an ocean
breeze that centered itself somewhere in the depths of my soul. But I wasn’t sure
I offered him the same gentle breezes.
In fact, I was so enthralled with Val I wrote a novel about him that went
to number one on the New York Times bestseller list.
One evening while watching a late-night television talk show
where he was a guest, Jimmy Kimmel asked him about the novel I had written that
appeared to be about us. Val looked at
the camera and spoke four words that sounded like a foreign language. My brows turned firmly down nearly over my
eyes and my mouth hung open as though I had heard of the death of a friend. What the heck did he just say? Then I heard the audience clapping like the
roar of your favorite football team had won and were going to the Super Bowl. What just happened my thoughts bellowed. And after the crowd calmed down Kimmel moved
on to other topics all about Val. It
was always all about Val lately.
When he returned from Los Angeles we celebrated at our usual
dinner club, came back to my apartment overlooking Chicago the nightlights. We
danced and made love for hours. Then in
our moments of silence, after lovemaking, I asked him what the four words he
said on Kimmel mean? The words describing my novel. He commented he didn’t know what I was talking
about but then he arrogantly repeated them..
“Oui je l'inspire”
I squeaked in a high-pitched voice, “What does that mean
please?”
He tried to dismiss me and move on to something else but I
persisted. Told him if he didn’t translate
it, I would head to google right now and break up our wonderful evening.
Okay, alright, all I said was “Yes, I inspire her.” It was for the audience you know?
Then before I could say a word, he told me he was leaving
town for New York and not to be upset but I might see him out with Claudette
Canton because they were shooting a commercial together. In fact, he added it was a date tomorrow
night, but only for publicity.
Again, my face held that same frown that appeared freely the
night I heard the four words describing my novel turn it all onto him. Everything was about him. But I knew him long before he became
famous. We were kids together,
schoolmates, Homecoming King and Queen, but something happened to him when he moved
on from a popular High School football player to a nationwide celebrity doing voiceovers
and commercials. It was his physical beauty that took him to a place far away
from our common roots. He lost who he
was in his soul and became his own personal physical spotlight shining himself
upon himself.
I looked him in his eyes and calmly stated. So, you have a
date tomorrow night?
He affirmed it and proceeded to move my attention away from the
present conversation by making love to me or rather using sex to benefit
himself from his own self-made relationship trap. His ego had grown out of proportion
and was beginning to appear ugly as well as I noticed he was drinking more than
he ever had.
And so, he made sex with me, kissed me goodbye, said he
would call me. But he never called
again. He and Claudette Canton had
become an overnight sensation. Magazine
covers, newsreels, and talk of an upcoming wedding. But Val and I were to be
married. We had talked about it since we
were freshmen in High School. The plan was
as soon as we graduated college, we would marry with our families close, have a
nice small wedding venue at the local Gardens by the River Walk.
Val had discarded me.
Discarded all the years, all the memories, all of it for fame. The worst part was he never said goodbye.
I moved on after a period of grief. It was true grief as though he had died and a
part of me died with him, a part of my heart died with his disappearance. It was something I never wanted to experience
again. I finally decided to take an
antidepressant to help stop the daily crying.
I cried at the market, while driving, in other public places as
well. It was no longer normal grief. The medication took a month or so to kick in
but when it did the crying stopped and I began writing again. But not the old me, it was someone new writing,
and the words coming out were from a damaged soul that no medication would
cure.
As time passed, I moved on. I dated a few men but no one
could replace Val in my heart. I
received a czll from my dad inviting me to lunch at the Café Du Soleil. Translated means Café of the Sun and it turned
out to be just that. When I entered the café, sitting with my dad was a handsome
young American Indian named Dakota Taner.
He stood when my father introduced us and when he looked down and smiled
upon me those God chills ran through me like wind and fire. He must have been six foot four. Who was this man? We had a light lunch and conversed about our
jobs and local news. Nothing earthshattering.
After a while, Dad excused himself back to work, paid the bill, and left us on
our own. I think that was the plan all
along and it did work out beautifully.
Dad always knew what I needed. To
say he was upset with Val would have been a worldwide understatement.
The people invited
expected the groom to be Val. Many Friends had never met Dakota and always
assumed if I ever married it would be Val.
After all, he was the only man I had ever been with until recently. People were coming into the church filling
the air with questions. Reading the pretty
little paper filled with golden letters stating who the happy couple was and
the words to an ancient Indian Prayer. Dakota’s
father was sitting in the front row to the left. My father, and his girlfriend,
MaryBeth, were sitting in the front row to the right. Dakota and I had both
lost our mothers to cancer in previous years.
Dad had bought me the most beautiful white softly beaded
gown. Its form-fitted long-sleeved bodice
was like what I would think an Angel might wear because at the waist it
blossomed into a swaying radiant flower petal, not too full, just enough
elegance to enhance the bodice and state clearly my worth.
The night before the Dakota and I were to take our vows I
had a disturbing dream.
I recall my first memory of the dream was that something was
amiss. My stockings were bunched up
inside my white satin pumps.
My friend
Linda who passed away six months previously came into my dream and wanted me to wear five-inch
beaded sandals so I would at least reach Dakota’s armpits. Oh, hell no I told her I would fall on my way
down the aisle and ruin everything! Linda
laughed but then her face became sober and she agreed. Then we both laughed. She also reminded me stockings were a thing
of the past and I should throw them out.
She then inquired why was I wearing navy blue tights under my white
Angelic dress? Not even stockings? I looked down and told her I didn’t know. Then Dakotas father, Dalton, came over to
help me with the navy-blue tights. He knelt
and gently lifted my foot toward him. He
took ahold of the twisted-up tights, straightened them out, folded them under
my foot, and placed my foot back into the shoe like in the movie Cinderella. Then he fixed the other side. Dalton then
stood up and exited my dream. He and Dakota were security. Linda was watching shaking her finger as to
say no. I looked at her and said, No what? And then she faded away. Next, I was walking away when I noticed a
secret pocket in my dress. I fumbled around because it was so small and discovered
Inside the pocket was a satin ring holder bag with a tiny zipper. I unzipped it and inside was goo. Snotty green goo with one large chunk of
goo. I was sickened by the smell and sight. I quickly went to the laboratory and cleaned
out the tiny satin zippered ring bag using all the paper towels available. I
then came back to the wedding area walking around watching people and listening
to what they were saying. Someone told
me I should go back to the dressing area. That I wasn’t supposed to be out
here. So, I did. I got a phone call from a man who told me he
was at a party. He was in the sex room
and wanted to know if I wanted to join him.
I secretly thought it was Val. I
said NO, I am getting married today you pervert. The man who called had been
drinking heavily.
I woke up back at the real wedding standing at the altar
with Dakota. It had gotten to the place where the minister asks if there was
anyone there who had any objections to this marriage they were to speak now or
forever not speak of it. It was silent for what seemed like an eternity when
out of the blue and unexpectedly the entire crowd in unison made a gasping
sound. A man sitting in a pew at the
center of the church stood up. Dalton,
Dad, Dakota, me, and everyone else turned to look at the man who stood silent. It was a near unrecognizable Val. Dear God, he looked like a homeless man. Tears began to fall hard and fast from my soul
onto the beautiful Angelic pearls whose voices were now screaming back at the
hot tears falling onto their once restful existence. They were trying to tell me. The tiny zippered nasty ring bag was trying
to tell me, the navy-blue tights bunched up in my peaceful shoes were trying to
tell me. The phone call from Hell was trying to tell me. Did I listen?
Val didn’t speak, he turned, walked toward the large wooden
doors, pushed them open, turned and looked at me one more time with a tear-stained
face of a beaten-down man, and walked out of the building.
I looked at Dakota, then my dad. I lifted my perfect life Cinderella dress
and ran down the aisle and out the large wooden doors chasing the lost illusion. I heard the guests going nuts but I never
looked back. If I had I would have seen
Dakota bent over in tears, his father trying to console him, and my father standing
at the church doors watching me get into Val’s truck, throwing my veil out the
window and driving away. Away from him forever.
They found my body beaten to death, still in my Angelic
wedding dress that could have taken me to a different future. But instead, my emotions allowed me to go
left at the Y in the road of my life road which led me down the ancestral path
to death by another bad choice.
I didn’t listen to the warning signs.
(Pierre Alex Jeanty author. I bought his books, they are inspiring and teach. This one reminded me of my dream last night so I am sharing. You can find him on facebook.
